The cries, crisis and mimicries of Rumpus and Trouble

Trouble.

The trouble with trouble is it takes no prisoners.

It takes, all prisoners.

Get what I am saying?

As a young child, we are told not to do this or that or we will get in

“Trouble”.

There is a way to avoid trouble.🤔

It is called trouble shooting.🤨

The state of being difficult or bothersome.

Effort or exertion made to do something, especially when inconvenient.

A source of bother or irritation.

A particular aspect of something regarded as unsatisfactory or as a source of difficulty.

A state of unrest or disorder, usually between opposing factions.

BINGO.

A state of unrest or disorder, usually between opposing factions.

Rumpus.

Rumpus knew how to stir the pot.

A lot.

Rumpus was a tightly wound up kinda guy. Rumpus held tightly to his will and ways. No flexibility for change. Unless, of course, the favor swung his way. The beneficial benefits of the benefit.

One day. One fateful day. Trouble came along and rocked Rumpus’s world. Day in. Day out. Day by day.

For a very long time.

A dance with no end.

A dance with no end in sight.

It takes one to know one.

By God’s grace and God’s grace only, Trouble was able to withstand the trouble.

A lot.

In retrospect, for a time, a long time, Trouble’s tithes and talents were the only way through for Rumpus.

The key.

Rumpus coming to terms.

With ways and means with which he was raised.

Choices had.

Choices made.

Choices regretted.

The quarrelling became so intense.

Too intense.

When Rumpus and Trouble stood face to face, they no longer recognized the person standing across from them.

Sometimes all that is left to do is walk away.

Chicken Little knew this.

Mark Twain once said he had known a lot of troubles in his life, and most of them never happened.(wjb)

Me. I wonder about that.

Troubles round here seem to arrive with a concrete, human and never ending vengeance. And, stick around.

Stay.

A long time.

One can submit for only so long. The power dynamics changes over time as other troubles enter the picture and permeate and penetrate the already fragile walls of Rumpus and Trouble. Taking advantages along the way.

Corrosion begins to occur.

Slow burn.

Quick and abrupt.

Makes no difference.

But. It does matter.

Devalue.

Humiliating.

The other troubles that come along with Trouble,

For the ride of their lives.

And there are many. Too many.

The only thing left to do is turn it over to God. Allow God to work on the heart of the person so wound up in the wind up. The saddest past of it all is that the person who has been there all along, quietly being there,

Was never in the running.

Never really in the running.

In Rumpus’s mind.

Heartbreaking.

Victory or Death.

Becomes the battle cry of the mimicries. Bombardment.

It is tough, more that tough to love someone and know they do not have the capacity to love back. No. Not in the exact same way.

In some way. A hazardous journey of a life of complete darkness, constant danger, a safe return-doubtful of reciprocity of the heart.

There were signs.

Along the way.

Some knew.

And chose to say nothing.

Some didn’t know.

And chose not to discover the truth.

Surrender?

Surrender to try and fix it all.

Per God.

Doesn’t mean a loss. For Rumpus or Trouble.

Those who fight the good fight and win need to be brave only once. Those who lose must show courage twice. So we must steel ourselves for harder things than triumph. (wjb)

Sometimes all that is left to do is smile.

And walk away.

Not in a huff.

Not in a huff or hurt.

”Let others cheer the winning man,

There’s one I hold worthwhile;

’Tis he who does the best he can,

Then loses with a smile.

Beaten he is, but not to stay

Down with the rank and file;

That man will win some other day,

Who loses with a smile.

Rumpus and Trouble did not read the signs well enough.

Of the destructive ways of their ways.

Dragging down one another for far too long.

To see the one who stays.

Restless.

Attempting to shoulder another’s misfortune takes balls.

Real balls.

Come to the rescue of another kind of balls.

And the recipient can only thank their lucky stars.

They crossed paths in their lifetime.

Life calls for everyday fortitudes.

In all of us.

They are the determining factors of the person we become as we go along life.

Students.

Spouses.

Parents.

Workers.

Citizens.

Make it Rain?

Not exactly.

The Rainy Day

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the moldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! And cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

Rumpus and Trouble.

One saw the signs. Of pain. Of regret.

One could not.

See the signs. Of pain. Of regret.

Trusting oneself is a daily exercise in self-reliance. When one steals that away from another, the battle ground continues to be fraught.

With troubles. More troubles. Endless lines of troubles. Escape routes with and of others. In an attempt to flee the hurt caused.

There is no escape from ourselves and our faults and failings.

The moment we own them is the moment we extend our hand of grace to another and help them to move to a “new normal”.

The sign of pain that flashes across another’s face. Is never to be ignored. Should never have to be hidden. From another.

It takes time.

Takes my time.

Takes your time.

To take all the pain completely away.